Chapter 17

The Emperor’s Troubles

The Vestes of the Linen had begun to dress Andronikos in another richly embroidered dalmatica and he called for his eunuch Pterygeonites, the Bearer of the Chalice of Mithridatium, to step forward.

Pterygeonites was one who knew full well that Andronikos was not a kindly uncle coming to restore order. The eunuch held a golden chalice up to Andronikos who took it and downed its contents at a swallow. He winced at the bitter taste, coughed, looked for a moment as if he might wretch, until finally his face settled into a long sour moue. Andronikos had been taking this particular antidote for a few years now. A specific against fifty-nine known poisons. This was after all, Constantinople, capital of the Roman Empire. Andronikos had studied enough history as a boy to know how many men in purple had died from poisoning.

His eyes bored into the shaved head bowed before him as he handed back the chalice. When Andronikos had swept into power he had ordered Pterygeonites to administer fatal doses of poison to Maria Born-to-the-Purple, her husband the Caesar Ionnes, and the Protosebastos.

He wanted to use him again. To kill her, but he dared not. He had to get rid of her. He could do nothing as long as she still breathed. The wretched woman.

Maria of Antioch. The mother of the boy. The Empress Regent. It galled him to think she was still alive. With her son a minor, she was nominally - and legally - in charge of the Empire.

The Latin bitch. He had to get rid of the scheming woman. But how? She could not be allowed to build up resentment amongst the aristocrats. Although General Branas remained loyal, Admiral Kontostephanos was already wavering. He had tried to have judges condemn her, even Andronikos’ eldest son, also called Manuel in honor of his father’s best friend (at the time), flatly refused to follow instructions and kill the viper. Executing her outright would be seen as an outrage. Even sacrilege. When Manuel had taken ill at the end of his life, both he and the Empress had taken holy orders. She was now a nun.

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A nun. The thought made Andronikos shudder. A bride of Christ. Whoring herself for the Protosebastos. And the Church would do nothing. Refused to have her tried in ecclesiastical court. Refused to even order her into exile at a convent in the mountains. Impossible. Patriarch Theodosius was no friend. In retrospect he was finding the Protosebastos had been killed off too quickly. Alive, the man could have been tortured into incriminating the Empress Regent. Andronikos wanted to have her sent to a convent at the ass-end of nowhere, but her will was such that out of the palace and into a convent in the city was as far from her son as she would budge.

He waved Pterygeonites away. No… when it came to Maria of Antioch’s death, he wanted so badly to leave it to Steven. His poisoner had his uses to be sure, but if you wanted things to get messy, there was Steven. Steven had a real taste for killing and he needed to be unleashed from time to time. This way she would suffer.

The Vestes of the Silk had finished draping him in purple and gold robes glittering with jewels sewn onto the fabric, decorative trim hemmed the long bell shaped sleeves. The Keeper of the Imperial Slippers came forth and placed Andronikos feet into the large soft boots made of felt, with slightly up-curling toes which he favored.

The astrologer, Skleros Seth, then approached and set up an old copper basin etched with glyphs. He added the necessary components and the lettered tiles before offering up a reed straw. Andronikos bent at the waist and blew. Bubbles rose to the surface, but no tiles. He turned an annoyed glare on the astrologer who indicated he should try again. Andronikos drew in a great breath and exhaled again. One tile, an omicron, eventually rose to the surface for an instant.

“Trouble comes, my Lord,” Skleros Seth explained.

“Trouble comes?” Andronikos repeated, unimpressed. “I am beset by troubles at every quarter.”

“Yes Lord, this trouble comes from the west.”

“Trouble from the west.” he scoffed. “What sort of vague warning is this? Useless. In my father’s day his astrologer would have been able to tell the very name of the man who meant him harm. Trouble from the west indeed.”